


Sturdy

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: SPN Masquerade Fills [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Bottom Dean Winchester, Domestic, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), SPN Masquerade Kink Meme, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: He’s known few blessings in his life, but getting to watch Dean blissfully fuck himself on Sam’s dick makes up for a lot of what he lacks.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: SPN Masquerade Fills [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/329416
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	Sturdy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spring 2020 Round of SPN Masquerade for the prompt: _Sam loves it when Dean climbs into his lap and rides him._. Original prompt and fill can be found [here](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/10986.html?thread=4271594#t4271594).

The best thing about the furniture in the bunker is that it’s sturdy. Sam and Dean have spent a lifetime in cheap motels, pay-by-the-week rentals that smelled like mothballs, and foreclosed houses that ought to be condemned.

At best, the Winchesters made do with beds, tables, and dressers that were second or third-hand, one more crack or splinter away from the dumpster. At worst, they slept on dusty floors or stretched out as much as they could in the Impala.

But in the bunker...that furniture was built to last. Sure, a lot of it was outdated, but Sam and Dean weren’t the Property Brothers. As long as it was functional and comfortable, they were happy.

Sam’s favorite chair is in the library. It’s wide and low, with a tall back and rolled armrests, and the cushion on the seat is thick and doesn’t try to swallow Sam up when he sits down. Sam can lounge contently in his chair for hours, reading one of the Men of Letters’ numerous tomes or having a nap until Dean gets back from taking care of a few errands in Lebanon.

The bunker is blissfully and unexpectedly quiet tonight, no visitors or extended-stay guests. Dean’s gone to pick up food, meaning Sam’s had the place to himself for nearly an hour since Dean will undoubtedly stop at the convenience store on the way back. In the peace and quiet, he dozes off. There are no dreams, just a calm emptiness that reminds Sam of when Jess used to tell him about the benefits of meditation.

The nap is good, but what Sam wakes up to is even better. Dean’s breathing is so familiar, Sam knows that he’s close without opening his eyes. He waits for the snarky comment about catching Sam unaware—“letting your guard down, Sammy?”—as he feels Dean lean over him, hands on the armrests.

“Honey, I’m home,” he hears in a lilting voice. Sam opens his eyes to meet Dean’s amused stare.

“Is it time for dinner?” he asks around a yawn. “I’m starving.”

“The food can wait.”

Sam frowns and whispers _Christo_ under his breath. Dean doesn’t flinch, though the smile on his face is strange and unsettling. Dean never says no to food. Hell, the only thing he rates higher than carbohydrates and fat is—

Oh. Now the look in Dean’s eyes makes perfect sense.

Sam starts chuckling. “Seriously, Dean? Getting takeout makes you horny?”

“What can I say, Sammy? The smell of bacon really turns my crank.” His lips brush across Sam’s, teasing him with a barely there kiss, so unlike his usual ‘raring-to-go’ initiative when it comes to sex and Sam. “Then I come in here and see you sprawled out, looking all relaxed.”

“Didn’t know that was such a turn on for you.”

Dean shrugs. “I dunno. It’s just...nice for a change. A little down time does wonders for the soul.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?”

They both glance down. It’s obvious that Sam’s body is catching up to what Dean is implying. Sam is eager to get started now that sex is firmly on the table. He goes to stand, but Dean won’t budge, pinning Sam in the oversized chair with a smirk.

“Mixed signals here, Dean. Gonna have to let me up so we can take this elsewhere.”

“Nah. Here’s good.”

That sends Sam into a mini stupor. Dean _knows_ how much Sam likes the idea of doing it out here in the open. Of course, they’ve had sex in plenty of other rooms, but there has always been a locked door between their naked bodies and the rest of the bunker. They’ve talked about getting dirty in the middle of the library, teased and flirted, but with so many people coming and going from the bunker these days, hunters dropping in for a little guidance or sticking around for a while, it remains an unachieved fantasy. But perhaps that’s about to change.

In the meantime, Dean has swiftly ditched his jacket and boots. He crawls into Sam’s lap and settles on his thighs like it’s his god-given right. The weight doesn’t bother Sam—they’ve been carrying one another all their lives. If anything, it’s a comfort to hold Dean’s body this close, wrapped up so tight in each other that there’s no room for anyone else. And while the chair might be big, the two of them take up every inch.

Sam runs his hands over soft cotton before sliding underneath Dean’s henley where his skin is still warm from multiple layers. Dean’s mouth tastes like he snuck a piece of bacon or two from the takeout boxes on his way home. Sam has tasted much worse over the years, so a hint of nitrates won’t kill him.

He imagines they could sit in this chair and makeout like horny teenagers for hours. It’s the kind of luxury Sam totally forgot about during the manic pace of the last few near-apocalypses. Their tongues roll back and forth, playing in Sam’s mouth before sliding back into Dean’s where a hint of sharp teeth makes Sam shiver. Dean slings his arms over Sam’s shoulders, drops more of his weight against Sam’s chest as the kiss grows more heated with each pass.

Dean squirms against him. He’s nice and hard and trying to find the best position on Sam’s lap, adjusting his knees as wide as they’ll go on the thick cushion. When he finds the right spot, he sways his hips front to back as if he’s already riding Sam’s dick. Because there’s no mistaking that’s where this is headed. From the way they’re kissing—more urgently now, their hands groping and pawing at Sam’s shirt and what’s left of Dean’s clothes—it’s obvious Dean won’t be satisfied with a handjob or rushed head. When Dean needs to be fucked, he usually gets his way, and Sam isn’t one to complain. 

He’s known few blessings in his life, but getting to watch Dean blissfully fuck himself on Sam’s dick makes up for a lot of what he lacks.

“I can see why you like this chair so much,” Dean says as Sam kisses down his throat, tonguing the hollow between his collarbones. “It’s the perfect size.” He levers up on his knees, dropping Sam’s mouth to his sternum and relieving the pressure in his pants. “Nice and sturdy,” he adds, grabbing the high back and shaking.

“Yeah, so don’t break it,” Sam growls, yanking his brother back down and moaning when his ass lands on his dick. “Why are you still wearing pants?”

“You’ve gotta let go of me first, Sammy.”

Sam does, reluctantly, and watches Dean shimmy out of his pants. Since he never planned on leaving the bunker today, Sam barely got dressed in the first place. All he needs to do is push his faded track pants down and his cock is bared and ready to go. Dean glares enviously at him, about to climb back into his lap when he curses and snaps his fingers.

“Almost forgot…” Stepping back, Dean digs in his pockets and pulls out his wallet. “Please be here—yes!” He triumphantly brandishes the small lube packet.

“How long has that been in there?” Sam asks as Dean spreads his legs with his hands and straddles one of his thighs. He can get more friction this way, squeezing Sam’s thigh with his knees and grinding.

“Replaced it after that lookout in Montana last month, remember? The picnic table?”

Yeah, Sam remembers. He was still dealing with splinters two days later. “Fine, give it to me.”

“Gonna open me up yourself, huh? You really know how to spoil a guy.”

“Shut up or I’m leaving.”

It’s an empty threat and Dean knows it. Sam snatches the packet from his brother’s fingers and rips it open, ignoring the smirk on Dean’s face. Normally, Dean doesn’t have the patience to wait for Sam to prepare him. He likes doing it himself, fast and hard, and usually with Sam watching, so they can get to the good part.

This way, though, Sam gets to enjoy the sight of Dean writhing on his lap as he fingers him, knowing he’s responsible for every hitch in his breath and muttered curse. Dean rocks back onto Sam’s fingers as he presses them deeper. They know how to move together, thrust and counterpoint, sweat beading up on their skin.

“Fuck, you’re taking too long. I’m good!”

“One more,” Sam promises. “I don’t want this to hurt.”

“Not a fucking virgin,” he reminds Sam in a huff before throwing his head back as Sam works three fingers into him and teases with his thumb just to wipe the frustrated look off Dean’s face.

Sam’s patience runs out when Dean reaches down to start jacking him off, filthy flicks of his wrist like he’s trying to drive Sam crazy. Sam withdraws his fingers with one last hard rub around Dean’s rim, uses the rest of the lube to cover his cock, and manhandles Dean until he’s over both legs, sitting oh-so-pretty above him.

“Come on,” Dean groans against Sam’s temple. “You know I’m ready.”

“This is your show, Dean. Take what you need.”

Sam holds himself steady as Dean sinks down onto him. The entry is smooth, barely a hitch in Dean’s breath, and he feels amazing. Sam’s built a mental catalog of moments like this, each one precious and unique. It doesn’t matter where they are—in a motel room, the back of the Impala, or exposed in the middle of the library—the world is narrowed down to the space their bodies occupy.

Once Dean’s fully seated, they don’t move for almost a minute, speaking with hands and lips instead of tongues. Dean can only sit still for so long, though, using his grip on Sam’s shoulders and the strength in his legs to lever himself up and down, riding Sam with excruciating restraint, given that Sam wants to throw him down on the library rug and fuck him across the floor. Now that he knows Dean won’t object to sex in the library, he’ll save that for next time.

This is good. Better than good, actually. It’s slow and thorough, a match for the calm of the bunker. There might be no one around to hear them scream and moan, except that every sound is swallowed up by a pair of lips. Sam holds Dean by the waist, adding an extra little push each time Dean drops into his lap and buries Sam’s cock all the way inside him.

Dean leans back, adjusting the angle until he gasps, and Sam knows he’s hitting his prostate just right. Sam holds himself steady and lets Dean ride him with lazy abandon, losing track of time along the way. He closes his eyes and enjoys the long, deep thrusts. Dean moves so that he’s dragging the head of Sam’s cock over his prostate and flexing his muscles when he does, trying to drive Sam crazy.

His eyes fly open when Dean cries out and freezes. Sam is breathless when he asks, “You close?”

“Fuck yes, I don’t think my knees can handle much more.”

Sam takes that as his cue to help his brother out by gripping Dean’s thick ass and moving him up and down a little faster. Dean’s got one hand on the back of the chair for balance and the other around his dick, stroking furiously as Sam takes over.

Dean comes first, and the tremor that wracks his body sets off Sam’s orgasm. It’s messy and hot, but Sam wouldn’t have it any other way. Dean tucks forward, seeking out Sam’s lips as their breathing evens out, leaving them both spent and disheveled.

Dean sits up far enough to let Sam pull out, but doesn’t move off his lap. He shifts, trying to get more comfortable. The chair doesn’t creak once. Sam’s not looking forward to the aches they’ll both have later. For the moment, he’s happy. 

“I like your sex chair,” Dean mutters, half-asleep.

Sam tries to sound disapproving. “It’s not—don’t call it that.”

“If the name fits…”

“Fine, then you get to clean my sex chair later.”

“Sounds kinky, Sammy.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam says without heat, closing his eyes and enjoying what he knows will be a short nap until Dean remembers the food he brought home.


End file.
